


But Now You're Not Alone

by faeleverte



Category: The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Major Character Injury, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-05 05:50:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeleverte/pseuds/faeleverte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love is for children, and they all have a job to do. But how do they work as a team when there are still so many walls between them? Phil Coulson really needs more coffee for this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Let's Go Out for Lobster

**Author's Note:**

> Will update warnings as needed.

One thing that could be counted on was that there was always coffee in Avengers Tower. Always. From the thick, tar-like brew in Stark's workshop percolator to the gourmet blend ready at the press of a button in the main kitchen, from the blonde delicacy in Romanov's kitchenette to the cheap swill with its floating grounds that Barton threw back with the occasional need to chew, there was always coffee. Agent Phil Coulson rubbed the back of his neck with one hand while trying to decide what sort of brew he needed to get him through this morning's meeting. 

"Workshop, JARVIS," he said. High-octane it was.

The glass wall was vibrating all along the hall from the pounding rock Stark insisted he needed in order to create. Coulson left the elevator, and quickly tapped his access code into the lock panel. He was almost surprised when it worked. For some reason, he had not been having to hunt for overrides as much recently. He filed that puzzle away to solve later and forced his way into the storm of sound in the shop. Tony was nowhere to be seen, but the fabrication units were humming away, and the robots were all clustered near the armor. Phil shrugged and aimed his footsteps for the coffee.

"I hope you brought your own cup," Stark yelled from the bowels of his latest suit - an enormous monster of a robot, more a tank for a single passenger than the sleek exoskeletons of most of the Iron Man armor. "JARVIS, cut the music."

The silence after walking into the wall of sound was nearly oppressive. Stark edged himself out of the awkward position he was folded into and stretched, his back cracking loudly in the silence. His boots thumped across the floor, and there was a brief clatter of tools.

"You have interesting tastes, Stark," Coulson said without turning, pouring sludge into a travel mug from his briefcase. 

"You're the one drinking it," Tony replied, wiping his face with a grimy rag as he walked up with his own cup held out.

"I meant the music," Coulson replied dryly, filling Tony's mug and replacing the pot on the counter.

"So I know you're not down here just to insult my playlist," Tony said. He tossed back about half his mug in one gulp, grimaced, and rubbed his chest just under the lip of the arc reactor. "Got a project for me, Agent?" He nodded to the briefcase resting against Coulson's leg.

"No, yes, well, of a sort," Coulson replied. Tony raised one eyebrow at the usually unflappable secret agent. "I need to meet with the whole team."

Tony's eyebrows bunched in confusion, then lifted in understanding. "Ah! You're here for The Coffee. That good, huh?"

"You have no idea how well this is going to go," Coulson answered, darkly. "You can't even begin to imagine."

Tony began to imagine when Coulson refilled the mug before they left the shop.

**

"So why are we doing this here and not in a conference room or something?" Bruce asked from the depths of the most comfortable armchair in the lounge. He had once casually commented that the deep cushions and the perfect ottoman in front of it were "so relaxing," and no one else ever sat in that chair again. Except Fury, of course, who somehow managed to commandeer the best seat in any room he entered. 

Thor was seated cross-legged on the floor with the pair of half-grown cats that no one would admit to bringing home sleeping on his lap. The rest of the team was crushed together on a single couch in front of the glass wall, and Coulson sat stiffly in the center of the opposite sofa.

"It's not exactly, well, strategic in nature," Coulson replied. "This is more personal, and I thought it would be more... I figured that we should... I... Hell." His face went red.

"Phil!" Natasha practically launched from her seat on the couch across the room to press her palm against his face. "Are you well?"

"I'm fine," Coulson answered, brushing her hand away and straightening his already perfectly straight tie. "This is just a matter of some delicacy. And ridiculousness. I can't believe I'm actually having to have this discussion with all of you."

Tony's lip curled into a sardonic smirk. 

"It's okay, Dad," he said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back into the couch, flowing into the space Natasha had just vacated. "We all know about the birds and the bees."

"Cute, Stark," Coulson replied, the blush fading from his face. "I'm not entirely sure I believe that of you."

Natasha lowered herself to sit beside Coulson, bumping his shoulder with her own. He shifted microscopically to return the gesture. She relaxed, moved an inch further away from his side, and leaned back into the sofa.

"So PR sent me a folder this morning," he began. "They have apparently been trying to come up with ways to make you all seem more socially acceptable."

Clint snorted, then coughed into his hand to disguise the sound. Bruce lifted one eyebrow, and Cap leaned forward, listening with his usual attention and eagerness. This was not going to end well.

"Apparently," Coulson continued, opening his case and removing a folder that he touched only with the tips of his fingers, "apparently the public would like a little more, er, romance. In the group. Possibly among the group."

Cap's mouth dropped open, his face flaming. Clint's lips twitched with barely-contained humor, and Bruce let out a bark of laughter. Tony dropped his arms and stretched out his legs, laughing until his eyes were damp with tears. Coulson was glad Natasha was leaning back far enough to keep her face out of his peripheral vision; he could imagine her expression and did not want his suspicions confirmed. 

"Like an orgy?" Tony asked after he caught his breath. "What? We defeat a supervillain and then all get naked in the streets? And this would improve our standing with the general public? I could get behind that. Well, maybe not you, Doc. Not while you're all big and green, anyway. Could get painful for someone. And I'm not sure if Pepper will let me come out to play anymore, if that becomes standard practice."

Coulson shot him a quelling look, and he shut up still grinning. 

"Of course I don't mean group sex in public thoroughfares, Stark," Coulson said. "According to this, they are looking for a 'love story.' A romance. Some passion. Preferably with Ms. Romanov playing the leading lady."

"Romance is, indeed, the way to charm the hearts of those around us," boomed Thor expansively. It was apparent how well the cats were adjusting to life in the tower when only one twitched an ear and the other just rolled onto her back for a belly rub. "And our lovely Natasha is the only one who could play a lady."

"Debatable," Clint muttered under his breath, elbowing Tony sharply in the ribs.

"And who is to be my paramour?" Natasha asked, shifting to lean her back against the arm of the couch and stretching her feet out to rest on Coulson's thigh. 

"Er," he answered, feeling his earlier blush crawling back up his neck. "Agent Barton."

"Barton," she said flatly. "You're joking."

"Me?!" Clint crawled up the couch backwards until he was sitting on the back, looking as if he were readying for a hasty getaway. "Why do I have to do it? I already have someone. I'm in a committed relationship. With someone that should be committed, I'm beginning to think."

"Why Barton?" Bruce asked. "What about Captain America?"

Coulson flipped a few pages. "Apparently, polling shows that any woman visibly seen to be dating or otherwise involved with Captain America would become, quote, 'the most hated woman on the internet' end quote."

"What about me?" Tony asked. He shot a long-lashed sideways glance at Natasha and bit his lower lip. She refused to even spare him a glance.

"Everyone already pities Ms. Potts for being stuck with you," Coulson told him. "They wouldn't wish you on anyone. Not even our lovely Black Widow, who, granted, could probably do more to keep you in line with your balls in her fist."

"Bruce, then?" Natasha asked, her eyes cool, unreadable.

"The whole thing is ridiculous," Bruce said, swinging his feet to the floor and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "We're here to keep people safe, not provide soap opera-like entertainment. When you're all finished mocking, lunch will be ready in the main kitchen." He rose and shuffled from the room, shoulders hunched to keep his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his baggy khaki slacks. 

"I'm not doing it," Clint said, also standing. "Can we get back to the part where I'm in a committed relationship?"

"But that has carefully been kept from the public," Coulson told him. "Look, I'm not in favor of this at all. I agree with Bruce. And I do not agree that you should be the target, given your committed relationship. And Thor is right out, given his frequent very public declarations of love for his Doctor Foster."

Thor beamed up at them, one hand nearly covering a cat as he stroked her back.

"Yeah," Tony said, climbing to his feet to drop a burn-scarred hand on Clint's shoulder. "It would just be gross with Barton, though. Luke and Leia kind of gross, if you know what I mean."

"Who is this Luke and Leia?" Thor asked over his shoulder to Steve.

"Star Wars!" Steve said cheerfully. He smiled brightly, pleased with the progression of his pop culture education. 

"Ah yes, the siblings," Thor said. "I'm not sure I understand the connection. Do Natasha and Clint share parentage?"

Coulson pinched the bridge of his nose in his usual "I hate babysitting Avengers and now I have a headache" pose. 

"Look," he said, "there were no orders that any action had to be taken. I was told to bring it up; I did. It's over. Let's please get back to real business now and put this frivolous waste of time behind us."

No one noticed Natasha had already slipped quietly away.

***

"Bruce?" she said, ghosting into the kitchen. 

"Oh, hey, Tasha," he said, slapping cheese on bread with just a bit too much force, as if the cheese had personally offended him. "Sandwiches. Wanna help?"

She stepped close to him, just brushing the edges of his personal space, and reached to take a slice of cheese from between his fingers. She bit into it - not saying a word - and watched his face with her cool grey-green eyes as she chewed. He sighed and dropped the rest of the cheese on the counter.

"You know I can't say anything," he said. "I can't act on it. I can't... Hell." He scrubbed a hand over his face and through his tangled hair. "I gave all that up when I got the other guy for a roommate. It's better that way. For everyone."

"Even you?" she asked. And then, without waiting for an answer, she turned to drift out of the room, as silently and suddenly as she had appeared. 

Bruce leaned against the counter, fingers pressed to his closed eyelids, not watching her go. He didn't need to watch people leave; they could do that just fine on their own. And they always had. Ever since the H... the other guy.

When the rest of the team, without Natasha, came into the kitchen, there was a large plate of sandwiches but no sign of Bruce. They managed to devour the entire stack before alarms began blaring throughout the tower. 

Without a word, everyone scattered to collect their gear and meet at the helipad on the roof where the quinjet SHIELD provided for the team waited. Coulson had his earpiece in demanding details, and Hawkeye was firing up the engines as everyone else clambered aboard. Iron Man swooped into the sky under his own power, and Hawkeye finessed the controls to follow close on his heels. 

"Appears to be a science project that got out of hand," Coulson said, tapping notes into a Stark tablet. "Location being routed to you, Barton." And then, back into the comm, "Lobster? Are you kidding me? I'm allergic to shellfish you know.

"Overgrown, glow-in-the-dark crustaceans, folks," he relayed to the team. "And most of the general population is already safely out of the way. We can look good doing this, people."

They landed a reasonable distance away from the wharf-side warehouses where the crustaceans had broken loose, and then the team headed into the area on foot. The lobsters or crawfish or whatever they were were alternating between cracking through walls and diving into the ocean. Iron Man swooped over them, sweeping through their ranks with repulsor blasts and small bursts of his diminutive missiles.

"Don't forget to give your lady a smooch, Barton," Tony called over the comm. 

"Can't get at you in that armor, Stark," Clint replied, swinging up a fire escape ladder and taking to the rooftops. "You'll have to take a raincheck."

"No, Barton," Tony said. "I'm your *woman*."

"Riiiiight," Clint answered. "You're my baby girl, more like."

"Game faces, team," Captain America said crisply, breaking through the banter. "Let's see what we're dealing with, take care of it, and get home in time for supper."

"They're not that big," Iron Man said across the comm. "About the size of German shepherds. But there are an awful lot of them." He paused in his report. "JARVIS estimates the number to be slightly over two hundred." There was another pause followed by a muffled explosion. "They aren't very sturdy; they seem to blow up nicely, though. Shouldn't take us too long to put this mess down."

"Okay, let's do it like..." Captain America began.

He stopped speaking as Bruce suddenly swelled into the Hulk and swung away to the front. 

"Or we all just follow him," Cap said, narrowing his eyes. "Hawkeye, Iron Man, keep your eyes open up above. We're coming in."

It was a fun fight. Hawkeye quickly figured out how to load a lobster with an explosive and time the detonation for the moment it dove into the ocean, exploding dozens at a time. He could be heard over the comm lines, cackling in a way he would later deny. Thor was allowing himself to be surrounded by clusters of snapping pinchers before raining lightening down on them, effectively steaming them in their shells. He and Iron Man joked about lobster dinners and drawn butter. Black Widow was all business, ignoring the jokes around her and refusing to allow herself to be drawn into the banter. The Hulk smashed through the shellfish, roaring with rage and leaving pulverized shells and puddles of meat behind him, throwing dead and dying lobsters into the ocean, into walls, and occasionally at teammates with abandon. Captain America barked orders and sounded bored as he sheared off claws, heads, and legs with his flying shield, but his eyes watched the largest and the smallest of his teammates closely. There was something going on here that he did not understand.


	2. Midnight Snacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone is always awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very, very fluffy. Very fluffy.

Any Avenger or assorted hangers-on could find another person to talk to in the tower, regardless of the time, unless there was something big and world-stopping happening. The resident assassins rarely slept for more than short, restless catnaps; although, to be fair to both of them, their lack of deep sleep preceded their careers, both having learned very young to sleep lightly and watch their backs. The engineering genius tried his best to never sleep, but if that was to avoid nightmares or indulge in creativity, not even he could truly say. The super soldier always figured he had already slept long enough while under the ice, and he seemed inclined to spend the rest of his life avoiding sleep; with the serum in his body, he did not require the rest to heal or recuperate. The scientist who resided there and the various others who were frequent visitors were often found in the labs or in R&D, overseeing experiments or simply reading or studying in the quiet of the night, gathering the next morning to spend hours or days comparing, discussing, or arguing their observations. Their demigod housemate had never set his internal clock to Midgardian time, and so he went for days at a stretch without sleeping; when he finally did seek his bed, he often slept nearly as long as he had been awake. And Pepper and Coulson were so accustomed to the strange schedules of their weird little family that they naturally adapted to being awaked at odd times by strange noises or for no reason at all. 

Steve padded to the kitchen for a snack after a hard workout in the gym that had been designed around acrobatic skills training. He had been down there for nearly four hours, hoping to burn off the restlessness that had settled on him when Bruce had ignored the planning stage before the Lobster Dinner (as Tony and Clint had dubbed the battle). Bruce never avoided the planning stage unless he could not control the Hulk's reaction. As no one was actually in danger at the time of his change, Steve did not believe the change was completely uncontrolled. 

He rummaged in the fridge until he found the foil-wrapped remains of a roast from two days before; how it had been overlooked by his snack-happy teammates, he could not imagine, but he grinned as he hopped up to sit on the counter and tear off bits of meat with his fingers. His favorite, by far, and it suddenly occurred to him that the rest of the team had noticed, had left it behind intentionally. They were learning to watch each other's backs at home as well as in the field. Their consideration widened his grin until he was positively beaming as Coulson joined him in the kitchen.

"Hello, Cap," Coulson said, aiming straight for the coffeepot. "Peckish?"

"Agent," Steve replied, nodding in greeting. "Isn't it a little late, er, early, er, not the right time for that?"

"It is always the right time for coffee," Coulson said dryly, leaning back against the counter, resting on one elbow. 

"What are you doing up?" Steve asked. The team was all just a touch overprotective of their handler and SHIELD liaison after thinking they had lost him just eight months before. "You should be resting."

"My bird flew the coop," Coulson said. He took a sip of coffee. "Got cold, woke up."

Steve laughed easily, and Coulson managed to fight down the giggle that bubbled inside him before he made a complete ass of himself. It was easier to talk to his childhood hero now, thanks to Steve's quietly understated sense of humor. Four weeks after the battle of New York, when the doctors finally deemed it safe to release Coulson from the artificial coma they had kept him in to allow his body to heal from the trauma of a spear through the heart, the whole team had been sitting at his bedside. Even the mouthiest of the them had been unable to speak as Coulson opened his eyes. The only person who managed to find words was Steve, who stunned the room by saying, "I watched you while you were sleeping" as soon as Coulson's eyes met his. The perfectly deadpan statement with the genuine relief in his eyes sent Coulson into a laughing fit that nearly killed him a second time. 

"Sooo," Steve began slowly around a mouthful of meat, "did you notice anything strange during the fight?"

"I'm assuming you mean our 'big, green rage monster' going off," Coulson said over the rim of his cup.

Steve nodded and swallowed. "Bruce is usually pretty careful to stay away from the rest of us before the change. He seemed, well, angry."

Coulson hummed agreement. "JARVIS, what is the current location of Doctor Banner?"

"Doctor Banner is in his lab, Agent," JARVIS replied, his voice coming from everywhere and nowhere. "According to his vital signs, he is sleeping on the sofa."

"Do you think it might have something to do with that absurd idea about Natasha and Clint from PR?" Steve asked. "He seemed pretty..." He trailed off, uncomfortable with a topic that felt like gossip.

"I was wondering that, too," Coulson replied. He stretched his head back to catch the last drip of coffee from his cup and went to set the mug in the sink. "I'll try to talk to Tasha in the morning, if she lets me near her. She was avoiding me this evening, and that's enough to worry me."

"The two of you are pretty close, aren't you?" Cap asked. He ripped another hunk off the roast and shoved it in his mouth. 

"Yes," Phil said with a sigh. "I was her handler for years, ever since she joined SHIELD, back when Clint brought her in. Part of the deal with getting her was a guarantee that our team would consist only of the three of us until she otherwise permitted. We spent an astonishing amount of time in weird places with nothing to do but play cards and drink too much vodka while waiting on a pickup."

Steve smiled and nodded; he understood that kind of camaraderie. The two men shared a thoughtful silence until a whisper of sound in the hall made them both turn their heads.

"Phil?" Clint's voice called softly. "I tried heading back to bed after a quick patrol of the building, but you weren't there." He walked into the kitchen wearing a pair of fuzzy sleep pants with no shirt and bare feet. 

"Barton," Steve said, nodding at him. He held the mostly-empty foil out on his large palm. "Roast?"

"No thanks, Cap," Clint replied. He leaned against the counter beside Phil, looping his arm around Coulson's shoulders. "Not the kind of..."

"Thank you, Barton," Coulson said crisply, shoving the half-naked archer toward the door. "Sleep now."

"I was just saying I wasn't hungry for cow," Clint said with a suggestive smirk and a raised eyebrow as he edged out of the kitchen.

"I'm well aware what you were saying, Clint," Coulson replied, looking pained. "Let's just keep details of our private lives private, m'kay?"

Clint laughed and pulled him close to press his jaw against Coulson's temple. "Love you," he murmured. "Still glad you're not dead."

Steve smiled as their voices faded toward the elevator. He was glad that some parts of his family were starting to settle in, if they could just convince Phil to move in permanently. And then his smile faded, and he chewed on his lip, wondering how to solve a problem he was not sure really existed but that he was absolutely convinced was not his business.

***

"Bruce?" 

A soft voice calling his name and the gentle touch of fingers on his face woke him. He sat up slowly, finding his glasses shoved halfway up his forehead and setting them back onto his nose. He ran a hand over his tangled hair, frowned at the scribbled notes on the papers in his lap, and then glanced up at the woman perched beside him on the arm of the couch.

"Oh, hey, Tasha," he said. "What are you doing down here this late?"

"Looking for you," she answered. "Haven't seen you much lately."

"Yeah," he said, gathering the scattered sheets from his lap to pile them on the nearby table. He watched his hands as they kept tapping the edges of the pages long after the stack was completely straight. "I've kinda been avoiding you."

"Well, that's direct enough," Natasha said carefully.

"You have always seemed like a direct sort of person."

"Yes," she replied, sitting perfectly still, not trying to draw his eyes. "Why?"

"Because I can't," Bruce said, shoving his glasses back up his forehead and pressing on his eyes with the butt of both hands. "I know what you're thinking, and you're wrong, okay? The other guy is just too dangerous. He would hurt you, if not right away, then eventually. And I just can't live with that. I can't even live with that possibility."

"So you know, then," she said, sliding down from her perch to circle around and sit on the papers he had just placed on the table. She leaned forward to close her fingers over his wrists, pulling his hands away from his eyes. Her clear eyes held his gaze, and she seemed open, showing every emotion, showing concern and caring. He knew her well enough to know that even her eyes could lie.

"I suspected," he replied, trying to smile, but only managing a grimace. "But I don't think it's me you're interested in. I think it's the danger you find attractive."

"I happen to be very turned on by brains," she said, her lips quirking into a sort of smile.

"Would you be if they were your own brains? Smeared all over the wall?" Bruce asked hotly. His eyes blazed green for a moment, and Natasha pulled her hands back, trying to quell the sudden flash of fear, to keep it from showing on her face. 

"That was unkind," she told him.

"It was honest," Bruce countered. "It's better if you just don't get too close, if no one gets too close. When I care too much, I break things. I break the things I care about. It's... not good."

Natasha watched him for several long minutes, her eyes never changing, and then she stood and breezed from the lab without a word.

Bruce sighed, and rubbed his eyes again before putting his glasses back on his nose and lifting the top page of his notes. He read over the last few lines, and then dug between the couch cushions for his pen. After scribbling for a bit, he went to check some experiment Tony had helped him set up the week before. He wrote a few more lines in a different notebook and then gave up.

There was tea in his apartment kitchen, and a comfortable bed waiting near it. Tea, a shower, and sleep. That was a solid kind of plan. He would put that into motion after he finished correcting just this one last algorithm. 

An hour later, he was back asleep on the couch with a different stack of papers spilling off his lap to the floor.

***

Tony was back in his shop, still swearing at the same armor, music blasting loud enough to drown out his curses. He kicked the thing in the ankle, and then hopped back, clutching his foot.

"You're wearing tennis shoes, not boots, Stark," he said to himself. "Moron."

He had showered after the battle, but there was a new coating of oil on his nose and a fresh stripe of grease above one eyebrow. He had managed to split his lip when he fumbled a socket wrench, and there was blood smudged down to his beard. The knuckles of one hand sported a new burn - he didn't remember where that had come from - and the other hand was bleeding from being scraped against the edge of a piece he could have sworn he'd already smoothed. The hydraulics in the left leg were having problems still, and he was getting frustrated trying to figure it out.

"JARVIS," he shouted. "These are not the schematics we hashed out two days ago. Where did those go? Wait. What the hell is this? That won't work! Why did I think that was a good idea? That is the worst idea I've ever had! I..."

His music cut off sharply, and Pepper caught his arm as he prepared to virtually ball up and trash the plans spread in the air in front of him. 

"Hi," she said, smiling her enigmatically sweet smile. "You missed supper, so I brought you a plate. Eat it. Then you can shower. Then we will go to bed. Do you remember your bed? You haven't seen it in about three days."

"Hey, Pep," he said, taking the plate and leaning over it to kiss her. The kiss left a smudge of grease on her nose. "And now we match," he said, swiping his finger down her cheek, leaving a trail of grime.

"Charming," she answered. She pressed a fork into his hand. "Eat."

And, for once without argument, Tony followed her plan.

***

In the depths of the tower, Thor slept in his bed, dreaming of his Jane, lulled into peace by the pair of rangy kittens who curled against his head.


	3. Breakfast Didn't Happen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Normal life is such a relative thing, and all Coulson wants is breakfast.

It had been two weeks since Coulson had been forced to discuss the farcical relationship idea, and, although neither he nor anyone on the team brought it up (except Stark and Barton, before every damn battle and frequently over breakfast), there was something about the idea that would not die. A nice but dim young woman named Amalia something-or-other brought it up approximately every three days, until Coulson surprised himself by losing his temper and telling her exactly where her entire department could go, should they chose to shove into the private lives of any member of the Avengers Initiative or SHIELD's special agents again. His language was colorful, and his tone was more forceful than anyone was accustomed to hearing out of him.

"So I don't want to hear about 'public opinion,' 'public morale,' or 'public desire,' again, Amalia," Coulson told her, both hands planted on the edge of his desk. He was surprised to discover he was on his feet, and that his breathing was ragged. "I am not running a goddamned superhero dating service, nor do I have any desire to get involved in any such thing. If Agent Romanov should wish to make her private life public, she may do... Actually, I would prefer if Agent Romanov never made her private life public. I don't think the public is ready for that." He forced himself to smooth his hair and tie and drop back into his seat. "Now, it's too early in the morning to be having any sort of discussion about the public image of the Avengers. I am aware that they are not exactly noted for being cuddly, friendly, family-appropriate entertainment. They are not supposed to be. They are, at best, a group of self-guided lethal weapons. Your team can stick to comic books and poorly-made toys with sharp edges that get them recalled every few weeks. My team will stick to kicking ass, mmm'kay?"

He nodded sharply to dismiss her and reached for his coffee cup. Damn. Had already finished it. And, not only was the pot behind his desk empty, he'd put the last of his grounds in the basket that morning. Well, no help for it. Breakfast in the cafeteria. He grabbed the empty cup and headed down the hall.

He filled the mug with the weak muck that passed for coffee in the cafeteria and made his way to a table in the corner.

"Coulson," said one of the two agents already seated there.

"Sitwell, Coulson replied. "Halliwell."

"So the rumor mill is ticking over in double time today," Jasper Sitwell said, curling his legs under his chair to lean his elbows on the table, eyes dancing. "Why didn't you tell me, you sly old dog?"

"Tell you what?" Coulson asked, careful to keep his face blank with an indeterminately pleasant curl to his mouth. Could they have heard about how he spent the weekend?

"That you scored Romanov," Frederica Halliwell answered for him. Her dark eyes were bright with mirth, and her full lips were twitching.

"What the hell?" Coulson said, setting his mug on the table with enough force to slop coffee across the table. "Where did that come from?"

"Fucked if I know," Sitwell said cheerfully, plucking a handful of napkins out of the dispenser and dropping them on the spreading puddle. "All the juniors are agog. They've decided you have hidden depths."

"They're not wrong about that part, at least," Halliwell said from behind a muffin.

"Be that as it may," Coulson replied dryly, "there is nothing in those depths I want swimming to the surface. But, Natasha? That's... unsettling."

Sitwell leaned back in his chair, practically howling with laughter. Tears squeezed out of his eyes, and he was, very literally, holding his ribs.

"I'll... I'll be... be sh sh sh... I'll be sure to tell her you said that," he said, when he finally got his hysteria somewhat controlled.

Halliwell's lips twitched again. "I'd pay good money to see you do just that," she told Sitwell cooly. "Phil, I've got a twenty that he'll puss out at soon as he's standing toe to toe with her."

"I'll see that bet," Coulson answered. He took a sip of his coffee and wrinkled his nose. "And I've got another twenty says he goes through with the telling and then gets his nose broken."

"You don't think she'd kill him?" she asked, her glowing eyes watching Sitwell sit up straighter and try to draw his normally cheerful face into more sober lines.

"Nah," Coulson said. "She likes him. She wouldn't damage him permanently. At least, nothing too vital."

"Hey! There's the answer to your PR problem," Halliwell said. "Get Jasper to ask her out."

Coulson visibly shuddered. "That might solve my PR problem, but the personnel nightmare would begin in seconds."

A stream of level one and two agents flowed into the room, preparing for early training. They all shot glances at the trio in the corner and started whispering and trying to stare without being obvious.

"Looks like I'll be skipping breakfast today," Coulson said, flowing to his feet. "I need to get to the tower and make sure Tasha doesn't think this shit started with me. On the other hand, it probably did, given that I told Amalia PR-from-Hell where she could shove the idea of an Avenger's romance. I'm sure she thought I was trying to protect my turf. My turf doesn't need protection. Romanov is going to kill me, isn't she."

"Good luck with it," Sitwell said. "I want to see that security footage later."

***

"I think there's something up your alley going on with this piece of shit," Tony said, breezing through the door that JARVIS opened for him without need of a security code. "Would you tell me where I'm bleeding out and help me figure out how to stop it?"

Bruce sat up quickly, dropping a book that had been lying on his chest. He had fallen asleep on the couch in the lab again, reading this time, glasses on the floor beside a cup of tea.

"Wha' time is it?" he slurred. He rubbed both hands over his face and rumpled his already mussed hair. "And did you just ask me for help?"

"It's about seven," Tony answered, waving his hands in the air to pull up a series of schematics. "And, yes, I am trying to skim off as much from the arc reactor as I can get without, ya know, killing myself to power this new suit. I have it as tight as math can get it, and now I need to bow to your expertise in the art of high-cycling energy signatures."

"Is that am or pm?" Bruce said, fishing for his glasses, coming up smashing them on his face. "And what makes you think I'll be able to do a damn thing with your tech?"

"Morning," Tony replied. He flicked his hands to zoom in further on a pair of small connections in the chest array of his latest toy. "At least look before you tell me to fuck off."

"Have you eaten yet, or would it be okay to grab some breakfast before we get sucked in?" Bruce stretched, glanced at his watch for confirmation on the time, and scratched his chest inside his shirt.

"Food is always welcome," Tony said. "Well, usually welcome. Or maybe it's just generally acceptable. Unless there's something more interesting going on. And then it can get in the way. But, yes, yay breakfast."

Bruce leaned over Tony's shoulder, studying the system. "Oh, wait," he said, "this here is your problem. If you..."

They both quickly became engrossed in the argument, the experiment, the creation. 

***

Steve, Natasha, and Clint walked into the gym, already sweating from their long run. 

"I like getting out in the city that early," Steve said. "It's nice when we can just be three more people out for a morning jog, rather than being the center of attention."

Clint and Natasha exchanged a speaking look; Steve was the center of attention everywhere he went, even in crowds who did not recognize Captain America. There was something about tall, blond, and beautiful that drew the eyes of everyone around him. Or it might be the constant air of good humor and friendliness that sucked everyone into his orbit. There was a feeling about Steve that he would start rescuing kittens from trees or putting out fires with buckets or something at any given second. He was the kind of Good that people could just feel without him having to say a word or do a thing; it was unsettling to the pair who preferred moving in shadows, unseen. 

Steve grabbed a jumprope from a nearby wall and headed to the center of the floor to continue his morning workout, while Clint and Natasha walked toward the climbing wall. Clint bumped his elbow against her shoulder and shot her a look out of the corner of his eye. Instead of returning the bump, she flinched away from him.

"Are you okay, Tasha?" he asked. "You have easily passed up six opportunities to tell me what a fuck-up I am this morning alone. That's not to mention all the insults I didn't hear during that fight with the Puffballs of Doom night before last."

"I'm fine, Barton," she said. She stopped walking, narrowed her eyes and flipped her body at the wall, snagging a grip with the top of her foot to begin her ascent upside down. "And it was Fluff of Fury, not Puffballs of Doom."

"Uh-uh," Clint said, jumping to catch with one hand and letting himself dangle. "That's not how we operate. You don't get to just shut me down when I'm worrying. And I actually wrote a report this time, so my Puffballs of Doom stands."

"That's exactly how we operate," she answered, crawling up like a spider. "And you can't name for shit."

Clint swung his other hand up to follow her and found himself on the mats, flat on his back, as she swung her legs around and clipped his shoulder. He grunted as he rolled to his feet and launched himself back up the wall. This time he dodged the kick aimed at his head, catching her ankle and swinging below her to destabilize her grip so that he could drop her to the floor. It would have worked, had she not gotten a leg between his thigh and the wall and levered him off into thin air. He caught a grip with his right hand on the way down and saw her arm angling toward his shoulder. This time he succeeded in blocking the strike and flipping his elbow enough to send her crashing to the mats. He made it halfway up before she caught up to him; Steve was kind enough to use some Super Soldier Speed to catch him before he broke his neck on a weight bench. 

"Is this two on one now?" Natasha asked, hanging almost casually by one hand. 

"Certainly not," Steve answered, and, dropping Barton to the mat, he leaped to catch a handhold on the wall to join the race to the top.

***

"How do you always end up on cat duty?" Coulson asked Thor as he walked into the communal kitchen in search of good coffee. 

Thor was sitting on the floor, trying to get as much of his bulk near the ground as possible while watching the kittens eat. Jaxy, a rangy black on black tabby short-hair ate with concentration, while little long-haired, silver Rabbit would lap a few bites, turn to look at Thor, and then nibble a bit more.

"She is a skittish one, the Rabbit," Thor said softly. "She is afraid of being left, and she eats best when one of her people is nearby." He trailed a fingertip down her back, and Coulson heard the explosion of purring from halfway across the room.

"Doesn't explain why you're the one always feeding them," Coulson said.

"I like animals," Thor answered. "I have always had animals friends to ride and to hunt with, to lie at my feet beneath tables and share in banquets. I have missed the camaraderie of furry friends during my time on Midgard. These little beasts do not look like much, but they are companionable. And they are mighty hunters of toys and bugs. Well, Jaxy is. I'm afraid that our wee Rabbit is more beauty than brains."

Coulson laughed and reached for the pot to refill his coffee cup. His phone buzzed in the pocket of his jacket, and he pulled it out to check the screen before answering. Fury. Rather early for this.

"Yes, boss," Coulson said.

"Phil," Fury said, and Coulson felt ice spill down his spine. Nothing good ever came of the Director using first names. "There is a problem. We had a science team in Somalia. Completely under the radar, well-guarded. They were exploring ways to clean up the toxic mess off the coast, to try to return the waters to the fishermen."

"What happened?" Coulson asked, trying to puzzle out what direct connection there was to himself.

"Don't know," Fury answered. "There was fighting. A lot of fighting. And our science team has been completely silent for the last twenty-four hours." There was a long pause. "There were geologists on the team."

"Oh god," Coulson's voice was a breathy whisper. "Paul and Klotho?"

"Assemble your team, Agent," Fury said, not unkindly. "You'll rendezvous with our extraction team, and we'll all try to figure out what the hell is going on down there."

Coulson ended the call and cleared his throat. "JARVIS?" he said, voice still shaky. He cleared his throat again, and looked at Thor, whose head had whipped up at the name of a geologist he knew. Coulson nodded at him and spoke again, voice firm and dangerous. "Full alarm. Avengers Assemble."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of fluff. Climb aboard, buckle up, and hold on tight; it's going to be a bumpy ride.


	4. It's Not Always a Picnic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When it's family, it's harder. When it's family, it involves them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rating has changed here. There is a lot of death, violence, and fear, which could be triggering for some people. It is not graphically depicted, but it is still not handled lightly. I hope.

Coulson was scrolling through pages and pages of information on a StarkTab as the Quinjet soared east through the clear morning sky, heading toward the afternoon. His eyes blurred as they read every detail Fury had sent, processing and organizing his thoughts to brief the team. Tony was engrossed in his own StarkTab, filtering through his contacts in arms and armaments to figure out who would have had the firepower to take down an entire SHIELD security team. They looked up, locking eyes, and Tony nodded slowly. Time to share information.

"Occasionally," Coulson began tapping to the beginning of his electronic files, "SHIELD will indulge in something for the betterment of humankind that doesn't involve explosions and blazing guns. I know, it shocks me, too. But it has been known to happen.

"Three weeks ago, a science team was secretly transported to Somalia aboard the Helicarrier, dropped in by Quinjet, and overseen by some of our best and brightest. Their goal was to quantify the damage to the oceans and fishing along the coast and to determine a way to clean up the mess. The goal was the eventual return of productivity to the area and an end to the piracy that has made nearly all political and economic gain impossible for the country. Someone blew their cover."

He paused, running one hand over his hair and suddenly looking very tired. 

"Two days ago, there was a recorded distress signal and lots of gunfire. It lasted exactly seven-point-four minutes, and nothing has been heard since. There is evidence that the research data was downloaded and, we assume, removed. The questions that have to be answered are these: Are there any survivors, who attacked the lab, and what was the intended target. Our first mission is to seek any of ours that are in need of assistance and to get them out. After that, we start on who did this and what to do about them."

"I may have some leads on the second part," Tony said. "I know some people who are checking, and I should have answers in less than eight hours." 

Coulson nodded once in acknowledgement before continuing. "There is a personal reason for me to be involved in this," he said slowly, his tongue feeling thick which made speech difficult. "My nephew is among the missing. I brought him in. He is my responsibility, both as family and as his recruiter. He is a gifted scientist and a fairly resourceful young man. I have to find him, tell my sisters..."

Clint whipped off his headset, turning control of the Quinjet to Natasha, and unbuckled his harness. Coulson did not look up as Clint's arm wrapped around his shoulders, pulling their sides tightly together. 

"Easy, Phil," Clint murmured into his hair. "I've got you. We'll get him back."

The words were empty; there no way of knowing if there was anything left to retrieve, but Coulson appreciated them all the same. He straightened his back, pulling away, and Clint transferred his grip to Coulson's knee. 

Bruce was rubbing his palms together, eyes haunted and face drawn.

"Why am I here?" he asked. "This sounds like the kind of thing where brute force will only make it worse."

"Doctor Banner," Coulson said, "I am going to need you. You and Stark will have to go through the files to see if there is something we're missing. If the data was the target, we have to understand what it is telling us, and we're not dropping anyone else who can't defend themselves in this sinkhole, so our scientists are out. We need your mind."

"Well that's new and welcome," Bruce said with a crooked smile. He tried to explain with his eyes how worried he was for Coulson's family, how he appreciated having a way to help. Coulson returned the smile, understanding what Bruce was unable to articulate.

"Captain," Coulson said, pulling up another file on the StarkTab. "I am giving you control of operations on the ground, not only the Avengers, but also SHIELD. You are out best tactician, and I expect everyone to follow your orders. I also expect you to listen to me unless and until I prove incapable of operating in a manner you would deem uncompromised. This is the only child of my deceased older brother. I can't promise that won't cloud my judgement. I trust you to make that call."

Steve nodded, his open face showing compassion. "No one would expect you to maintain your distance, but I won't make any calls without running them past you." They both left it unspoken that informing Coulson of decisions would not necessarily mean seeking approval for them. Coulson was grateful for Cap's leadership that would take the burden off of him if and when the time came for the hard calls.

"Sir," Natasha's voice said over the comm, "Our ETA is one hour, seven minutes. Tell Barton to check his gear and get up here to fly this thing, so I can do the same."

"Affirmative, Romanov," Coulson replied. Clint jerked him to his feet by his lapels, pulling him in for a rough, fast kiss. "You heard the lady," Coulson said, hands locking onto Clint's hips for just a moment. "Get to work, Agent."

Neither of them saw the pained way Bruce was watching them, nor the longing glance he spared for the copilot's seat and the curl of red just visible along the side of it. Steve noticed, however, and he exchanged a troubled look with Tony.

The sun was slipping over the horizon behind them as the Quinjet came in high to avoid radar detection. Thor twirled his hammer and soared out of the cargo bay to summon rain and lightening to cover their landing and that of the rest of the extraction team. 

***

The situation on the ground was worse than any of them had been led to believe. As they made their way into the makeshift lab in a white stucco building south of Mogadishu. Even in the dark of the electricity-less night, the destruction was unbelievable. The dead were piled along the stockade fence outside, covered with tarps. And there were so many dead. There was an agent in field gear leaning into the corner of the yard, looking for all the world like he was waiting to find his toenails before he finished vomiting. Coulson peeled off from the Avengers and went to put a hand on the young man's shoulder.

"Take your time, son," he said. "Try to breathe through your mouth, and don't think, if you can. Let's just get this job done and get home."

Natasha moved to Bruce's side when he stopped outside the gate, gripping his arm and talking softly, calmly to him as she led him into the compound. He kept his eyes closed, letting her lead his footsteps, focusing on her voice. As they neared the doorway, he lifted his off hand to cover her fingers, squeezing hard and leaning his shoulder into her. 

Steve's jaw was set, eyes flashing with anger and sadness, but he stopped to look at the faces of each of the fallen, fixing them in his memory. Coulson watched him, knowing there would be new sketches in the book on the flight home; those drawings were tributes, a way of maintaining humanity in the midst of war. Every time they lost someone - anyone - related to the team, there was always the drawing. Somewhere, in one of those books, he knew there was one of him. He sometimes wished he had the nerve to ask to see it.

Clint and Tony did not speak on their way through the rain and mud. The weight of death, coupled with their unspoken fears for Coulson's nephew and the rest of the science team forced their usual banter into silence. They hurried through the door, Tony already using JARVIS to begin hacking what was left of the computer systems in the lab.

Thor swooped out of the stormy sky with his cape flaring around him. He stalked to the shorter row of dead scientists that were lying a little apart from the black-suited agents.

"Show me their faces," he commanded. "Wait." He turned to make certain that Coulson was out of range and then gestured. "Go ahead."

There were only four bodies, three men and one woman. None of them were Coulson's nephew or his girlfriend, and Thor practically sagged with relief. He was remarkably fond of the girlfriend, Klotho, given what she had done for his brother. He took a deep breath and bellowed across the yard, "They are not among the worthy dead, Son of Coul. Hope remains, and we will grasp that hope and begin our search in the strong expectation of a reunion with those who carry our favor and our hearts."

Coulson went stiff, gave the bent shoulders of the sick agent another pat, and straightened his spine to march into the lab.

"Okay, Cap," he said as the team assembled in the half-burned computer lab. "This is your operation. Do what you do best."

"Retrieval teams have reported that there are four scientists, thirty-two security personnel among the confirmed dead," Steve said. His cowl hung down the back of his neck, letting the room see the lines between his brows. "There is no sign of the rest of the original team, which includes seven more science special agents, and a further eight SHIELD agents. Black Widow and Hawkeye will join the reconnaissance detail to search nearby for signs that might point us in the right direction. Iron Man and Dr. Banner will be the only tech crew here on the ground. They will try to establish an uplink with the Helicarrier to figure out what this lab had discovered. Agent Coulson," he paused and met Coulson's eyes, face blank, "Thor will return you to the Helicarrier to collect the information and to act as liaison with SHIELD from there."

"No, I..." Coulson looked stricken for a moment, then he schooled his face into it's usual expressionless lines. "Yes, of course."

"Thor, after you have safely delivered your cargo, return here, so that you and I can be ready to defend the compound and our, er, spies."

"Of course, Captain," Thor replied. He gestured to the door, and Coulson turned to follow him.

A massive concussion rocked the compound, throwing everyone to the ground, before they had taken three steps. Coulson felt a body slam into his back, arms circling his waist as he tumbled across the floor. From somewhere far too close, the Hulk suddenly roared into the night, and there was a scream, cut short by the wet sound of a body slamming against something hard. Another roar from the Hulk, and then the crashing died away and silence fell. Coulson gave in to the wavering darkness and let his head drop back, cradled against something soft, as he slipped into unconsciousness. 

***

Coulson came to only a few minutes later, according to his internal clock. His head was still resting against something comfortable, but he was more upright, and the softness was moving, flexing. There was no sound from the comm in his ear, and the lights they had set up in the room were dead. 

“I’ve got him, Barton,” Steve’s voice growled very near his ear. There was a blaze of light as Steve flicked a flashlight on, playing it over Coulson’s filthy suit. “Get to Natasha. Now! She needs you. I think I took most of the impact here. He’ll be fine; go!”

A hand that Coulson had not realized was holding his arm released, and he looked down at his hand in the center of the circle of light. His cuff was torn, and there were marks around his wrist that would turn to bruises soon enough. He stared stupidly at them for a long moment, trying to piece together the time he was missing.

“Agent?” Steve said gently,his chest shifting against Coulson’s back as he reached up to feel for a pulse in his neck. “Phil? Hey, are you okay?”

“I... think... I...” Coulson mumbled. He lifted his other hand to touch the marks on his wrist. Fingerprints. Decidedly fingerprints. “What happened?”

“Sorry,” Steve said. “Clint was worried, and he may have grabbed you a little too hard.”

“I...” Coulson blinked again, and his ability to function under crisis came racing back. “I’m fine.” He said, pushing himself out of the circle of Steve’s arms and sitting up. “Report, Captain.”

“There was an explosion,” Steve responded automatically to the tone. “The last thing I saw before I caught you was Bruce going green. Black Widow ran towards him, but he lashed out. I think she is severely injured. The rest of our team is accounted for; Stark and Thor have gone to track the Hulk. All of the SHIELD personnel were outside the building, and we as yet have no reports on casualties.”

“Shit, Tasha,” Coulson hissed, rolling to his feet and flicking on his own flashlight as he pulled it out of his jacket pocket. He blinked, noting that there was blood running into his left eye and that his right leg did not seem very inclined to keep him upright. Well, no time to deal with that right now. He stumbled toward the place where his flashlight beam showed Clint kneeling on the floor above a crumpled, motionless bundle. “Hawkeye, report.”

“She’s hurt, Phil,” Clint said breathlessly, panic scratching at the edges of his voice. “There’s a lot of blood, and I’m afraid to move her. She’s... Oh, fuck, she just flew...”

“Barton,” Coulson barked. “I need you on task.”

He watched Clint’s shoulders heave, still, slide down slowly on the exhale.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Clint said. “Took me by surprise, is all. Yessir, she has a pulse, weak but steady. I can’t establish breathing at this angle, and I am afraid to move her.”

Coulson reached him, pressing a hand on Clint’s shoulder to support himself as he also dropped to his knees beside Natasha. He gently brushed the bloodied tangle away from her face and, cupping the back of her neck with one hand to keep from allowing movement, helped Clint roll her just enough to reach for her mouth. His earpiece suddenly crackled to life, and Coulson heaved a sigh of relief.

“Black Widow and and an undetermined number of other agents are down. On Widow: breath pattern established, pulse established. Blood on her lips, numerous visible injuries, including a laceration on her scalp,” he barked into the comm. “Fury, get us some help down here, or she’s not going to make it.” 

“Sir,” Clint said, not looking away from Natasha’s pale, bruised face. “I need to go after the others. I have the tranq, and they’ll need my help to contain the Hulk before he makes it to Mogadishu or any other inhabited area.”

“Our first priority is our team, Avengers and SHIELD,” Coulson said. “I need you to help Captain America check on the rest of the agents.”

“Sir...” Clint looked rebellious. 

“This is not a time for revenge. Banner didn’t do this, Barton,” Coulson said, measuring every word. “Whoever set off that bomb did this to all of us. Go check on the agents, and let’s see if we can’t salvage something out of this nightmare. We’ll find who did this to Romanov and Banner and Brandt and the other Coulson and all of the missing, wounded, and dead. We’ll find them, and then we’ll get to have our fun. Go assist Cap.”

Clint nodded sharply and rose, hurrying to check on the wounded in the yard.

“Coulson,” Fury’s voice came over the comm. “What the hell is going on down there?”

“That’s just it, Director,” Coulson said, pulling off his jacket to get his shirt free to press against Natasha’s bleeding head. “Hell is exactly what is going on down here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work will continue heading into the dark for the next few chapters. As with all Hero Cycles, however, there is a way to climb out.


	5. No Time for Snacking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They had faced injuries and danger. They had dealt with betrayal and fear and death and some really awkward family dynamics. They had held together through fire and ice and redemption. But this time, everything was going wrong.

When the new extraction team arrived to collect the previous extraction team, it was Captain America who tenderly lifted the limp, bleeding form of Black Widow to carry her to the helicopter. He refused to allow anyone outside of the Avengers to touch her until she was safely under the care of the medic who would try to stabilize her and staunch the flow of blood on the way to a secure base in Kenya.

“Keep her alive,” Steve told the man. “We can’t... Just... Keep her alive.”

The medic nodded, attention already focused entirely on the wounds, hands frantically working before the propellor blades had picked up speed for the flight.

Coulson was shouting into the comm unit on the right side of his face and holding a phone against his left cheek, receiving orders. A field medic was frantically trying to keep up with his pacing steps, attempting to treat the deep cut over his eyebrow.

“Sir, if you would just...” the medic was saying, hopping along, trying desperately to avoid putting pressure on the suture silk that was looped through Coulson’s face.. “I just need a moment to...”

“Director, we need to get them all out of here,” Coulson said into the phone. “All of them. Evacuate the living and the dead. Leave this to my team.”

Clint paused in his attempts to organize the line of walking wounded to watch; if Coulson did not let the man patch him up, Clint was going to take action. He sighed with relief when Coulson stopped pacing, and the medic managed to tack the last stitch and apply a gauze bandage. Clint figured it was too much to hope that the medic would get a chance to check out the leg Coulson had been favoring earlier.

Stark had returned to report that the Hulk had been located, that no major damage occurred, and that Thor was waiting to bring him back. He immediately began rummaging through the damaged computer systems of the lab, trying to find enough bits to begin piecing together what data JARVIS could salvage. There was none of his usual banter, no speaking at all, really, as he kept his thoughts between himself and his suit, helmet firmly in place. No one else on the team had much to say, either. 

Thor came back just as the last helicopter was clawing its way into the sky. Bruce was draped over his shoulder, clearly unconscious, and completely nude. Thor stalked to the center of the glow from the lights that were being powered by SHIELD generators and poured the scientist to the ground with exquisite gentleness. Tony finally retracted the faceplate of his helmet and brought a blanket to cover Bruce’s sleeping form. Clint and Steve walked over to stand nearby.

“Fuck him,” Clint growled. “Right now, I wish I could break his damn nose while he sleeps. Might wake up Big, Green, and Violent with Small Women, though.”

“Barton,” Steve said, putting out a hand to rest it on Clint’s shoulder. “You know he wouldn’t...”

“But he did,” Clint countered, shaking off the hand and slouching away to stand just behind Coulson. Coulson heard the exchange, but he remained still, listening and speaking rapidly on his phone, trying to make sense of a tangled web of half-truths and misdirections that were their only clues about what had become of his nephew. A few moments later, he turned, and his eyes met Clint’s, steady and calm, but the crinkles at the corners of his eyes looked less like smile-lines and more like stress. Clint looked away; he was not in the mood for sympathy or understanding right now, and those were sure to be the next expressions that crossed Coulson’s face.

“Clint,” Coulson said softly. There was a catch in his voice that registered as much as the name he had spoken; they never used first names in the field. 

Clint met his gaze and saw something new on Coulson’s face: fear. Raw, blinding fear. Hell. Now it was Coulson’s turn to swing away from sympathy and understanding. Clint watched Coulson’s shoulders slump and felt the urge to hit something. Hard.

“Natasha?” Bruce’s voice cut through the team like an electric current.

“Hey, Doctor Banner,” Steve said, squatting beside him. “Glad to have you back with us.”

“Where’s Tasha?” Bruce asked. “I know I heard her scream. Did I... the other guy... Is she hurt?”

Clint’s jaw set, and he started to reach over his shoulder for an arrow. His hand stopped when Coulson caught his wrist in a grip like a steel vice.

“Not now, Hawkeye,” Coulson murmured. “Stand down.”

***

“Bruce!” Natasha cried out as she swam back to consciousness. She fought to free her arm from whatever was holding it down, twisting and clawing. There was pressure all over her skin: fingers digging, clutching, exploring.

“Agent Romanov!” a sharp, familiar bark brought her back to herself. The grip on her arm was a thick bandage that wrapped from fingertips to shoulder. The other touches were dozens of other, smaller bandages. “Widow, stand down.”

“Director Fury,” she said, leaning back into the pillow. If he was here, this was a place she wanted to be. Except that... “Where is Doctor Banner? Where is my team?”

“They’re still in Somalia,” Fury told her, stepping into her line of sight. “You and I are currently on a secure base in Kenya.” His lips twitched in disgust, and he added, “I hate Kenya. They can never get the weather right when I’m here.”

“Director,” Natasha said. “Sir. My team...”

“They’re okay,” he told her. “I’ve had Coulson swearing in my ear for the last twenty minutes.”

She lifted her unbandaged right hand, palm up. “Give it to me.”

“Romanov...”

“Sir, if you do not put me in contact with Coulson right now, I will end you.”

Fury opened his mouth to reply, thought better of it, and pulled the comm unit off his ear to toss to her.

“Coulson,” she said, voice velvet smooth and calm. “Have you found Banner yet?” She paused to listen. “Tell him I’m fine. Tell him... just tell him.” A pause. “Are you okay?” Pause. “Barton?” Pause. “Stark?” Pause. “Rogers?” Pause. “Thor?” Short pause. “Well, of course. Good hunting. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Natasha tossed the earpiece back to Fury and rolled onto her side, tucking her knees against her belly under the blanket. She could feel the pain medication running through her veins, making it hard to focus, hard to stay awake, so there was no point in fighting. She was here, they were there, and they needed her to rest, to heal. Sleep was the next agenda item.

“Director,” she said softly as she watched his coat swish when he turned to go. “You’ll keep me informed?”

“Of course, Agent Romanov,” he told her. “As soon as there is anything to report.”

***

“Is there anything around here to eat?” Bruce asked after pulling on a pair of pants he had stuffed in a duffle bag before leaving the tower. His bare chest was covered in dirt, the thick layer of hair smudged into strange patterns and designs with sweat. He accepted a protein bar from Steve and hunched back over his tablet with Tony at his shoulder.

Clint sat to one side on a chunk of concrete wall, toying with an arrow and trying not to picture one twist of hair over Bruce’s heart as a target. Coulson eased himself down onto the wall, close enough to touch, and closed his phone with a sigh. 

“There’s a lead,” Coulson said. “Slim one, but all we’ve got right now. A Russian organization, leftover from the KGB days, not government affiliated, but a lot of money and a lot of fingers in a lot of political pies.”

“Location?” Clint asked, distracted from his brooding.

“North, near Burao,” Coulson answered. “It’s a bit tamer up there, given that the economy is doing better. There are some questions about exactly how it’s doing so well. Most of it seems pretty legit, but...”

“So what’s the Russian game here?” Clint asked.

“Waste dumping,” said Coulson. “Nuclear and heavy metal. Same with the Ukrainians, possibly England and the US. I would like to note, however, that it mostly appears to be corporate and not governmental in origin. Mostly."

“Shit,” Clint replied. “So, what’s going on, exactly?”

“Hell if I know,” Coulson said. “But Fury’s sending information on the target, and we’ll be heading out within the hour, if Stark and Banner finish up in time.”

“And if they don’t?”

“My nephew is out there somewhere, Barton,” Coulson said, his voice hard. “We’ll be heading out within the hour.”

***

Steve was fairly certain that he had discovered a new level of hell on this mission. It was not the danger or the dead that was eating into him this time; rather, it was the cracks that were appearing in his team. They had faced injuries and danger. They had dealt with betrayal and fear and death and some really awkward family dynamics. They had held together through fire and ice and redemption. But this time, everything was going wrong. During the short flight on the quinjet, he ran his fingers over and over the surface of his shield, feeling the lifelike hum in it, hearing its song through his skin more than with his ears. He let it hypnotize him, hold him, sooth him. There was no good way to deal with the team dynamic problems right now, so he sank into the contact between hand and curved, smooth surface, letting the familiarity empty his mind.

*** 

Clint ripped off the headset and stood up from the pilot’s seat to find his entire body unexpectedly pressed against Coulson’s who was rising from the copilot seat at the same moment. And, while the contact was not unwelcome, it made Clint cringe again to think of how he and Natasha had such a steady rhythm that they never collided there, aside from the occasional intentional brush of shoulders that was their usual silent communication. He joined the team in the back for the tactical briefing, taking care to stay as far from Bruce as possible in the small space. He noticed the look Steve gave him, part anger, part disappointment, and kept his own face still, giving nothing away. If Captain Spangled-pants was going to ignore what had happened to Tasha, fuck him, too.

“It’s a smallish compound,” Coulson said, pulling up satellite images on a StarkTab. “But it’s well-guarded. Just the sort of situation to create a collateral damage hell, if anyone makes even the slightest mistake.”

“If they’re holding ours,” Steve said, “we think they’ll be held about here, most likely under heavy guard. There was a reason they wanted our scientists, and, given that we have not received any demands, we’re going to assume that they were the original target.” He shifted his broad shoulders restlessly. “Hawkeye, I need you up high. Cover our backs and keep us all apprised of troop movement within the compound. Thor and Iron Man will go in first to secure these main areas. Agent Coulson and I will follow to discover the location of prisoners and to take out the guards. Doctor Banner, I would like you to stay here and monitor the situation on the comm. If it all goes to hell on us, we may need the Hulk to get us back out.”

“Because the Hulk can’t possibly make things worse,” Clint murmured. He crossed his arms tightly across his chest, glaring at nothing in particular.

“Barton,” Bruce said, “Clint. Look, if you’ve got a problem with me, how about we just get it out in the open right now.”

“What makes you think I have a problem,” Clint said. “I enjoy watching my partner flying through the air. It fucking gets me off to see my best friend almost killed by a goddamned teammate.”

Bruce looked at him helplessly, shoulders hunched tight against the verbal assault, the waves of anger and hatred that rolled over him.

“Barton,” Tony snapped. “Let it go. Romanov knew the risk in going toward Banner when he was Hulking out...”

“So this is Tasha’s fault then?” Clint was on his feet, chest bumping into the glossy red paint of the Iron Man armor. 

“No, hey,” Steve got between them, trying to keep his temper and strength under control as he forced them apart. “The blame belongs on whoever set off that explosion. And the responsible party seems to be right in front of us. Let’s get this done, and we’ll deal with this shit when it’s over.”

Coulson was pulling a Kevlar vest on over his spare shirt, adjusting straps and watching the argument with cool eyes. 

“Stand down, Barton,” he said. “Tasha is down, my nephew is out there, and I am not losing you to a pissing match with the Hulk right now. Head in the game. Get your ass out there and find a high place. Let us know what you see.”

Thor activated the rear ramp and preceded Clint into the night.

“Hawkeye, my friend,” Thor said, dropping a heavy hand on Clint’s shoulder as he paused to run fingertips over his bow, checking the string, the grip, the controls for his quiver. “I share your concern for our Widow. She is a mighty warrior, but it is her boundless heart that sent her to Bruce’s side when he was in distress. Your anger with him is an insult to her caring nature.”

“Tasha? Caring nature?” Clint laughed bitterly. “Are you sure we’ve met the same Black Widow?”

“Do not insult her,” Thor warned darkly. “She has been much broken, more so than most, and her ability to love in spite of that is the greatest testament to the greatness of her spirit.”

Thor looked up at the stars. “We are depending on your eyes tonight, my friend,” he said, lifting Mjolner off his hip and stretching his long arms wide. “Lead us safely into battle that we may discover our friends. I would not have to carry word of the death of his chosen back to my brother.”

“Wait, what?” Clint said, forgetting his anger in this strange new twist. “No, not right now. You’ll have to explain that one to me later.”

He nodded once before melting away into the dark to find a place from which to watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are references here to the facts, rumors, and supposition about the cause of the piracy that plagues the Eastern coast of Somalia. It's not a pretty situation, and it's something the author feels quite strongly about. Taking advantage of weakened governments and economies and people who can't defend themselves against outside powers is pretty low.
> 
> To explain the Loki bit, see If It Heals Something Inside http://archiveofourown.org/works/702017/chapters/1294248
> 
> Or be patient, and I'll explain later.


	6. Bitter Taste of Defeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Injuries and the cracks in the team have broken them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time. Heading toward the end. Next chapter earns the rating.

Coulson noticed the size of the gates and the sheer force Thor must have used to fling them open, and then he was through them and racing in Steve’s wake. He could almost feel Hawkeye tracking him, checking his path for threats, and, as soon as a head popped around a corner, he was gratified to see it sprout feathers as an arrow went neatly through the skull. He lifted his fingers from the barrel of his rifle, knowing Clint would see the gesture, even with the height of the guard tower he had scaled and cleared before they began the assault on the compound. 

“Welcome, lover,” Clint drawled in his ear. Coulson mentally rolled his eyes and raised just one finger in a middle-finger salute. 

“You appear to have been right, Cap,” Iron Man said over the comm. “What resistance is left appears to be backing towards the shed in the center. Thor is getting ready to drop in behind and clear them out.”

“I can give him a hand with that,” Hawkeye answered. 

“Just cover that door,” Steve said. He dove and rolled as he let his shield fly toward a group of five that were backing together, machine guns swinging toward him as he approached. “If someone so much as touches the...”

“Problems,” Barton said sharply. “Someone is coming out... Wait... Wha...?”

“Hawkeye, report,” Cap barked, collecting his shield as it swung back toward his arm. 

“Uh,” Hawkeye did not respond right away as he struggled to describe what he was seeing. “It appears to be the science team, armed with rocks, beating the hell out of their captors from behind.”

Thor suddenly streaked out of the sky, dropping into the center of the compound. Coulson exchanged a look with Steve, and they both took off sprinting. Coulson grimaced as he was easily outdistanced, hoping it was the super soldier serum and not his own age causing the speed discrepancy. A man appeared around a corner between them, aiming a pistol at Cap’s back, and Coulson easily dropped him without breaking stride. 

“Nice shot,” Barton purred in his ear. “You’ll be after my job, next.”

“Who do you think had it first,” Coulson replied, starting to wheeze a bit. His lungs and heart were starting to complain about this treatment so soon after being pierced by a spear.

“You okay?” Tony asked, hearing the buzz in Coulson’s voice over the comm.

“Fine,” Coulson replied. “Just someone tell me what the hell is going on up there.”

“It’s under control, Agent,” Tony said. “There’s a guy who looks like that picture of you that Fury has hidden in his desk and a very spunky little black girl with curves that won’t stop leading the charge. Thor and I took care of what they couldn’t, but I think they might have been fine without us.”

Coulson slid around the last corner and headed toward a small knot of people standing over a battered-looking lot of men in tactical gear. 

“Uncle!” called one of the young men. He did look extraordinarily like his uncle: same square jaw, same high hairline, same mock-serious mouth. He threw up a hand, half salute, half fist of victory, and the two Coulsons grinned at each other. “We were just waiting for you to show up, so we’d have a ride out of this joint.”

“Phil!” The shapely woman Tony had mentioned dropped the bloody brick she was holding and ran towards Coulson with her arms held out. He slipped the strap of his rifle over his shoulder and swung his arms out to meet her. She was two steps away when the sharp crack of a rifle cut through the night, and her eyes went wide as she tumbled limply against his chest.

***

They were all at the base in Kenya, bloody, tired, and worn down, waiting in a hallway near medical. Coulson sat between his nephew and Clint, shirt covered in drying blood, entire body trembling periodically. The coffee mug in his hand was the only thing keeping him upright at this point, the certain knowledge that he must not spill the coffee. He watched the black liquid waver in the cup as another spasm shook his hand. He was going to spill the coffee. He lifted it to his lips, not drinking it, just smelling. It cut through the wet iron smell of blood. He was just damned tired of wearing blood. The surface of the coffee shivered again.

Paul leaned into his uncle’s shoulder, face completely blank, eyes staring sightlessly at the far wall. There was blood down his sleeve where he had tried to take Klotho’s limp form out of his uncle’s arms, and a bandage, across his cheek where he had been grazed by a bullet as the last assault had begun. His throat was raw from yelling, but he had not been able to stop himself, as he had snatched the gun off of his uncle’s back, aim and the squeeze of the trigger coming naturally to him after so many summers with his uncle, target practice and games. He was floating in a haze of horror from having taken lives, more than one he was fairly certain, and fear for the woman he loved. And then guilt came crashing down: he had talked Klotho into this job, this life, this kind of danger.

Clint had an arm wrapped tightly around Coulson’s back, hand stretched to rest on Paul’s shoulder, offering what little comfort he could. He was surprised by how much he wanted to help this young man that he had only met once, briefly, several months before. But this was Phil’s family, and that made him Clint’s family. Strange, this feeling of belonging, of wanting to help, as family had never held much importance to him, that particular sentiment having been beaten out of him so long before. Clint patted the shoulder under his left palm and reached for Phil’s hand with his right. Strange place to find family, but that was SHIELD.

Thor sat on the floor with his back against the opposite wall, apparently uninjured, but his face was drawn, and he looked far more exhausted than anyone on the team had ever seen. He had a great deal of respect for the tiny mortal woman, Klotho. She had, at least for the time, given Loki something to think about other than his injuries, real and and imagined. He knew his brother would never gain her affection, having shared meals with her and Paul at the science center where they were employed by SHIELD. Thor had seen the light in her eyes when she watched Coulson’s nephew, and he respected the young man for his ability to capture and care for one like her. Waiting for word on her condition was a special kind of hell. Her death could break two hearts, and Thor did not wish to have to be the one to watch Loki’s face upon hearing the news.

Steve paced, fingers absently poking at his ribs, feeling the cracks starting to heal already. He wanted to blame Iron Man, Thor, blame Hawkeye, blame himself, for missing the bunkers, but the camouflage was simply too thorough. The door was invisible from the outside when closed against the ground, and they had no way of knowing there was a small force waiting for them. The loss of two more scientists and another SHIELD agent was on him, no matter what. Steve always carried the deaths from any operation on his own shoulders - and that included the enemy. He slouched his shoulders and whipped around to walk the other way. The burden never got lighter.

Bruce huddled in a chair in the far corner, separated from his team by most of the science staff they had recovered. He had not taken part in the skirmish, but his shirt carried smudged blood from helping to carry the wounded aboard the Quinjet. Since he... the other guy had hurt Natasha, he had felt outside, not part of the group, unwelcome. He watched Coulson, knowing he ached, feeling the same ache in his own chest, but unable to move to offer comfort, unable to speak.

Tony was in the opposite corner, StarkTab on his lap, with a young oceanographer who had escaped uninjured seated beside him, looking over his shoulder and trying to help sort the data. He barked short orders into his phone, having JARVIS or his own research team look up information. Somewhere in the middle, he suddenly had the presence of mind to shoot a text message to Pepper, letting her know they were all alive. He could not stop himself from including a line about his worry for Natasha and Klotho. Hmm, more of a team player than he thought.

Paul dropped his face into his hands and groaned. Clint felt Coulson tense at the sound. 

“It was Klotho,” Paul said, muffled. “Ya know, who saved the security staff. When they came in, she figured out they were, er, not killing us. The scientists. So she got the guards who stayed in the lab with us out of their vests and hung science ID badges on all of them. Cool as could be.”

“Your beloved is brave as any warrior of legend or song,” Thor said, looking up. “My brother still speaks of her courage with a great deal of awe. I believe it is her bravery that has kept him upholding his end of the bargain he made with her. He still wishes her forgiveness.”

“Right now,” Paul said, face still in his hands, “I’m wishing like hell she had gone with him. Maybe if she had, she wouldn’t be dying. I mean, maybe he could have protected her better than I did.”

“She’s not dying,” Coulson said sharply. “And this is not on you, Paul. If anything, it’s on me. I’m the one who brought you both in, recruited you. Not even six months, and you’re both dropped into hell. This madness is my fault. If I’d kept your clearance level down...”

“No, Uncle Phil,” Paul answered, looking up and trying to straighten his shoulders. “We knew the risks, but we thought we could do some good out here. Klotho was the first one to sign on, in fact. She managed to convince several of the more senior science specialists that they didn’t want to do it to leave room for us.” His mouth twisted in a sideways smile that went straight to Clint’s gut. He knew that smile. It was the same look Phil got when he was breaking inside.

“No blame for anyone in here,” Clint said. “This is the job. We all knew it, and we all took it, anyway. Because we all know we have to do what we can.” He pressed his lips to Coulson’s temple, gave Paul’s shoulder another pat, and stood up. “I think I was forgetting that part, too.” He walked over to where Bruce slouched in the corner and sat down on the chair next to him.

***

Natasha woke, every joint aching and the nerves in her broken arm on fire, but she did not press the call button to ask for more meds. Her mind was clear as she slipped out of the bed, collected a SHIELD-issue blue robe, and left her room on bare feet.


	7. Like Water in the Desert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looked like the team was putting it back together finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Semi-graphic sexual content.

All heads in the hallway swiveled when the swinging doors opened. Instead of the white-coated medic they were all waiting for, Natasha, looking pale and angry limped through. She stopped when she saw who was sitting nearest the door. She stiffened, and her eyes went wide.

“Bruce?”

“Natasha. Oh thank...” Bruce jumped to his feet, arms reaching for her before he thought. There was a moment where he tried to stop, but she had already flung herself against his chest, both of her arms going around his waist. The solid edge of the splint on her left arm dug into his ribs with a punishing bite, and the nails of her right hand dug in harder still at the small of his back. He wrapped one arm about her shoulders, the other grabbing the tangle of her thick, red hair and pressing her face into his neck. “Oh god, you feel good,” he mumbled against her shoulder, hunching down to press himself against her.

He breathed in the spicy scent of her, the dust in her hair. And then he stiffened.

“I hurt you,” he said, trying to pull away.

“Bruce, stop,” she said and reached up to press her palm to his cheek. “You didn’t mean to. Neither did the other guy. I just got too close when you changed. You weren’t swinging for me. It’s okay. I just didn’t think... needed to get to you... wanted to...”

He stared at her helplessly, aware of all the eyes in the hall on them. And then she stretched into him, pressing her lips to his, warm, soft, safe, and he forgot everything except desire. His hand in her hair tightened, pulling too hard, too rough, but he could not control it. Her nails raked against the back of his neck, down his shoulder, and his other hand knotted in her robe, pulling her more tightly to his chest. Kissing her was exactly as he imagined it would be: all teeth and pressure and punishing heat. 

“Natasha?” Clint said with a note of amusement in his voice. “Bruce? This maybe isn’t exactly the place. Not that we’d mind a show to break up the tedium.”

They broke apart, and Natasha pulled the front of the robe further across her chest. Her eyes were dark, but her expression was bored as she turned to Clint. 

“Are you okay, then?” she drawled, and she walked towards Clint, stopping where she could just reach his face with the tips of her fingers. He reached up to squeeze her hand.

“‘M good,” he answered. “Coulson and Paul, not so much. It’s Klotho. Bullet to the back. She’s still in surgery.”

Natasha turned back to Bruce. “Later,” she said, “we’ll have to finish this... discussion.”

Bruce dropped bonelessly back into the chair beside Clint as she walked away from them, heading toward the Coulsons with worry in her eyes. They both watched her go, Clint trying not to focus on the sway of her hips and Bruce unable to look away from it.

“Guess you’re forgiven, then,” Clint said. “And I sincerely hope this means you two will quit dancing around whatever the hell it is you’ve been dancing around. I miss the insults. Well, not really, but I’d rather see Tasha happy.”

“We good?” Bruce asked him. 

“‘Course, Doc,” Clint answered. “Just don’t hurt her, because I’m not sure I can get an arrow deep enough in the other guy to keep my promises to her.”

“I don’t... I’ll try,” Bruce said. “With everything I have, I’ll try.”

***

An hour later, Tony flopped the StarkTab onto the chair beside him. He cringed a bit at his own rough treatment of the tech, but, hell, he designed it, and it would stand up to some abuse. The science team that had been waiting with them had all been herded off for a debrief, and it was just Avengers left waiting with Paul. Natasha had curled up on Paul’s left, her right arm tangled around Coulson’s left as they held the young man between them. Clint was sprawled at her feet, his head tilted back against her lap, one arm wrapped around her calf. Tony watched them, the closeness and familiarity, and suddenly wished Pepper was there. Or the cats.

“Thor,” Paul said quietly, looking up to watch the big blond pace. “Sit down over here. You’re family, too.”

Thor looked at him, nodded, and dropped to the floor beside Clint. 

“Stark, Cap,” Coulson called, “get your asses over here. You, too, Bruce.”

Steve smiled warmly and his shoulders relaxed. Looked like his team was putting it back together finally. And, maybe, this was the start of a closer family.

***

Twenty minutes after that, a white-coated medic came through the doors to find the Paul surrounded by a silent group that was leaning together, draped across one another, and generally piled in a heap in the center of the hall. Paul struggled out of the multiarmed embrace and stood, Avengers piled around his feet like a pack of dogs.

“She’s alive,” the medic told him, and Paul’s shoulders sagged with relief. Coulson climbed stiffly off the floor to hug his nephew. “She’s not out of the woods,” the medic warned. “There was a lot of damage to...” But no one was paying attention to him as they all rose and reached out to hug or pat everyone in the group. Thor embraced Paul so tightly that it looked like he would crush the smaller human.

“She should be waking up soon, if you want to come back,” the medic said. He flailed as the entire crowd surged in his direction. “One at a time!” he gasped frantically as he was pushed back toward the doors. “Just wait...”

It was a losing battle for him, but the team did stop and wait respectfully outside the door to the recovery room to let Paul go in first. 

***

Klotho was awake but disoriented, trying to answer the questions from the mass of superheroes around her bed. Paul was holding her hand as if he was never letting go, and Clint was curled by her feet, looking for all the world like a hawk with a clutch, protective and a little angry. They were all feeling rather protective of the small woman, after hearing of her courage in facing down the God of Mischief, lying to him calmly to protect her planet, and then learning of the ways she had fought to protect the rest of her team in Somalia. The attack from the rear had been her idea, after she had verified that Coulson had taught his nephew to pick locks. They had dug the bricks out of the walls the first night, and then they just waited, certain that help would come.

“If you hadn’t,” Paul said, “Klotho was going to come up with a plan for us to make our own way out.” 

“I was lying about that, you know,” Klotho said, dreamily. She shifted restlessly against the pillow and caught her breath at a stab of pain.

“I think we should let her sleep,” Bruce said. He was not looking at Klotho as he spoke, however; he had not taken his eyes from Natasha, where she leaned against Coulson’s side, her eyes starting to droop with exhaustion. 

They each took a turn to kiss Klotho on the forehead, wishing her pleasant dreams and quick healing, and then they filed out. Paul moved back to the chair beside her bed, collecting her hand in both of his and pressing his face against her thigh. Klotho smiled affectionately at him and let her eyes drop shut. He would keep her safe while she slept.

***

Natasha was clinging to Coulson as they walked up the hall toward her room in medical. Clint sped up to catch her as she started to sag. 

“Bruce,” he said over his shoulder. “I think this is your stop.”

Bruce felt his eyebrows climb and his glasses slide down his nose. 

“I, uh,” he started, but could not figure out where he intended to go with the sentence. Instead, he found himself holding an armful of mostly limp Black Widow and staring into a dangerous pair of Clint eyes. 

“You touch her before she gets sleep, and I’ll fucking kill you,” Clint said calmly. “Even your big green friend won’t protect you, got it?”

“Of course,” Bruce said. “What makes you think I could... I would ever...?”

But Clint had already slung his arm around Coulson’s waist, leaning in to whisper something and then dancing out of reach, laughing at Coulson’s reaction. 

“Mmm, Bruce,” Natasha purred against his shoulder. “Take me to bed.”

There was really no arguing with that.

***

“So now it’s just me and the big guys,” Tony said, looping his arms through Thor and Steve’s elbows. “Are we going for poker, or do you want to cuddle and talk about our feelings?”

“Shut up, Stark,” Steve said, pulling his arm away. But he was grinning crookedly, and the three of them headed up the hall, discussing poker rules and wondering if Fury was up to make a fourth.

***

Bruce leaned down to awkwardly swing Natasha into his arms. She snuggled her head against his shoulder like a cat settling in, and sighed. She was heavier than he would have imagined, all hard muscles and soft breasts pressed against him. Her breath was hot against his neck, and he shivered as he edged through the sliding door into her room. He carried her to the bed and gently laid her on it, prepared to pull the blanket over her and move to the chair.

“No,” she said. She rolled onto her side. “There’s room for you.”

He looked at her, at her back to the door, to him, unable to move. This was not just trust, this was surrender, and his heart started hammering. He toed off his shoes and began to unbutton his dark olive shirt. “I can’t sleep in a shirt,” he said hesitantly. “If that’s okay...”

“Lock the damn door, and you can sleep nude,” Natasha replied. “Keypad to the right. X974387-oh.”

He keyed in the code swiftly, trying to ignore the sounds of Natasha shuffling on the bed behind him. When he turned back to her, he was not entirely surprised to discover she had dumped the robe and the hospital gown on the floor. She was facing him now, spread out naked for his eyes. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, and she licked her bottom lip, watching him watch her.

“I...” He started to say.

“Shut up and lose the clothes, Doctor Banner,” she told him, looking much less frail than she had in the hall. Her wide green eyes sparkled at him.

“You need sleep,” he said, finishing the buttons on his shirt and letting it slide to the floor. He unfastened his belt and fly next, unable to stop himself from obeying the command of her words and in her tone.

“Then help me ease the pain a bit, and I’ll sleep,” she said, leaning back against the wall beside the bunk. She stretched both arms over her head, arching her neck, her back, her legs. Bruce stopped breathing until she relaxed and curled onto the white sheet. He dropped his slacks, suddenly glad he was commando instead of wearing the ratty boxers that made up his underwear wardrobe.

“Natasha, I can’t,” he told her, already walking toward her, his body’s reaction to her nudity, her willingness, completely obvious. “You’re injured.”

“It’s been fourteen hours since my last pain medication,” she told him coolly. “That is more than long enough to be in my right mind again. I am capable of consent.”

Bruce rested his hip on the bed and leaned down to press his lips to the fullness of her mouth, moaning as her hand came up, fingers sliding into his tangled curls and tightening enough to cause pain.

“Tasha,” he whispered, pulling back. “You... I...”

“Shut up,” she told him, and he did. “I am not waiting anymore. You said that I was direct. You’re right. So get down here and take me. Failing that, lie down and let me ride you until we both have what we want.”

He stretched along her, arms clutching her to him, feeling her legs wrap around him, squeezing, locking their bodies together. 

“I already have what I want,” he said into her mouth, letting his hands begin touching, exploring, possessing the softness of her. 

***

In the darkness of a tiny room, hardly more than a cell, Clint arched off the narrow bed, Phil’s name spilling out of his lips in a cry, a prayer, a scream for mercy. He was beginning to believe Phil was okay, starting to trust that they had made it through this darkness. A muscular arm went around his waist, calloused fingers locked on the back of his neck, and the heat and warmth and smell of Phil was all around him. Clint wrapped a calf tightly around solid thigh, arms circling, clutching, holding, and then Coulson was gasping Clint’s name into his shoulder, trim nails raking across his back, marking him, binding them with blood.

***

“Call,” Fury said, face carefully blank.

“You have to have a tell,” Tony bitched under his breath. He glared at his cards, certain they were trying to personally insult him. “There is no one who is that good.”

“Too rich for my blood,” Steve said with a sigh, folding.

Thor was grinning like a maniac, and, after one look at his honest, open face, Fury gave up.

“Pour more whisky, Stark,” Fury said. “If we’re not going to have decent poker, let’s at least get decently drunk.”

“I think I’m actually jealous right now,” Steve said, collecting the cards from the table. “Drunk might make this game more bearable. Does anyone even know who’s dealing at this point?”

“Does it fucking matter?” Tony asked.

“Maybe we should try a few rounds of Go Fish,” Steve said, giving up and downing a shot of whisky. Hell, even if he could not get drunk, there was no reason not to join the party.

“I wonder how our kittens fair tonight,” Thor boomed. “Show me again the picture of them that Lady Pepper sent to us.” He leaned over Tony’s shoulder to gaze at the picture on the screen of Tony’s phone, and then he pulled out his own phone to study the picture of Jane that she had sent to fulfil an earlier request. “If the four of them were with us...” He sighed, sorry, but not sorrowful, and then took another deep draught from his mug.

Steve did not know what Thor was drinking, and he almost wished he were brave enough to try some. But this was contentment. His team was safe, physically and emotionally. At least for this moment. It was enough.


	8. Family Dinners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to Normal life, whatever "normal" is

They were stuck in Kenya for three days while they waited for Klotho to be cleared for medical transport to New York. While they waited, Tony and Bruce led the remains of SHIELD’s science team through their research to find the answer for the attack on the base. According to Bruce, data indicated that dumping was ongoing, and, given the amount of pollution, he was fairly certain that there was local collaboration, someone stopping the locals from actually protecting their shorelines. Tony had a list of likely candidates for financing behind the whole mess. The two of them were gleeful as they dumped the data in Fury’s lap and went back to poker with the team.

***

A week after leaving Africa, the team had settled back into home life back in Avenger’s Tower. Pepper and Tony were preparing to leave for California with promises to visit often, and more promises to have the team out to stay with them when world-threatening crises permitted. Klotho had been pressed into staying in the tower for her recovery, and Paul, of course, came with her. Since they were occupying the guest suite on the main floor, Coulson had been forced to move his overnight belongings to Clint’s quarters. When his spare suits started showing up, everyone hoped he was going to be a permanent fixture. 

And then Steve found Coulson sneaking off the elevator with a full suitcase, heading towards Clint’s apartment.

“So you’re moving in, then?” Steve asked, folding his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall. 

“Sort of looks that way,” Coulson said, dropping the suitcase on the floor and trying for a wry smile: what actually crawled up his face was a large, goofy grin. 

“You selling your place?” Steve asked. “None of my business, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” Coulson answered. He thought for a minute, and then answered the question slowly. “One of these days, Clint won’t be Hawkeye anymore. There will be some new hotshot to take his place. And, when that day comes, I want to have someplace to take him home. I’ll probably close it up, mostly, except for those long weekends and the like. But, yeah, we’ll be back there someday. I have to hold onto that. There are times...” He trailed off.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Yeah, you’ll need that home someday. And it’s going to be good when it happens.” He looked down, an expression of exquisite pain tugging at the corners of his perfect lips.

“Hey, Cap,” Coulson said. “Steve, it’s okay. There’s a place for you. With us, if you want it. With Natasha. With Bruce. With Thor. With Tony and Pepper. You belong with us now. And forever.”

Steve looked up, smiling crookedly. “Thanks for that. There’s still time right?”

“Steve,” Coulson said, walking over to put a hand on the taller man’s shoulder, “there’s all the time you need.”

Clint opened the door and poked his head into the hall.

“Cap,” he called, “if you’re hitting on my boyfriend, we’re going to have words.”

“Not a bit of it, Barton,” Coulson called back. “Not that I would mind, of course.”

Steve went red from neck to hairline. Coulson laughed, patted the broad shoulder, then leaned down to pick up his suitcase. Steve watched him walk up the hall, smiling as the banter between the archer and his handler continued until Coulson was near enough to Clint to be drawn in by the necktie for a quick kiss. 

***

“That offer to come out to California stands,” Tony said to Bruce as they swirled around each other, ticking through files in the laboratory, sharing information, trying to sort everything they had worked on together over the nearly a year they had been sharing space. “I mean, JARVIS can take all of this and just transfer it to my lab there. And the lab out there is on the same floor as my shop, so there wouldn’t be all the screaming in the elevator when we’re going back and forth.”

“Tempting, but I can think of two reasons to say no,” Bruce answered, balling up a virtual file and pitching it to Tony. Tony caught it and spread it out on the screen in front of him. “Number one, that would be entirely too close to your music for me to work.”

“Probably a fair point,” Tony answered. “And the other?”

Tony looked up when there was no answer. “Doctor Banner!” he gasped in mock surprise. “Are you blushing? Could it be your very wild and athletic sex life which you are thinking about at this moment?”

“And how do you know it is wild and athletic?” Bruce asked, still carefully studying the screen in front of him, blush deepening to purple around his ears.

“Because you forgot to lock the lab two days ago,” Tony answered. “So, is this a thing, or just a thing?”

“Are we talking about feelings now?” Bruce said. “Because I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that.”

“I do not want to know about your feelings,” Tony said. “I just don’t want you to decide to disappear into the filthiest stink hole you can find again. I might need you later.”  
“So it’s all about you, then?” Bruce asked, looking up this time, a wide grin splitting his face.

“It’s always about me,” Tony answered, looking offended. “I thought you knew that.”

Bruce snorted. “Let’s just say I’m willing to see where this goes and enjoy the ride until it gets there.”

***

“Thor?”

“Ah, Natasha!” Thor boomed at her. She sank to the kitchen floor beside him and lifted Rabbit off of his lap. “You are melancholy?”

“Just restless,” she answered. Thor scooped Jaxy off the floor and deposited her into Natasha’s lap beside the other cat. “Thanks,” she said. “Just what I need. More cat hair.”

“They are a comfort,” Thor said. He leaned back against the counter and stretched out his long legs. He’d traded his Asgardian armor for a pair of snug jeans and a t-shirt, long feet bare. “Is there a problem with you and Bruce?”

“What? No!” she said. “Bruce is good. I’m good. We’re, we’re fine. I think. I just...”

“The loss of our armored friend and his lady, then?” Thor said.

“Yeah, it just feels like...” Natasha rose, cats dropping out of her lap and scampering off, Jaxy chasing the tip of Rabbit’s tail. 

“It is like our kitten friends,” Thor said. “They fight together, fight against each other, spend their days with different people, but, when the nighttime falls, they search for one another. We are the same, Natasha. Our team will be together whenever the night falls.”

“I don’t count on other people coming through for me,” she told him. She leaned her elbows on the counter, looking away, through the glass wall and over the city. “I can take care of myself, and I’d rather just rely on me. It’s dangerous to expect others to...”

Thor had gotten to his feet and stepped behind her, silent and graceful for all his bulk. He was leaning close enough to whisper in her ear. “No.”

“‘No’ what?” she asked. 

“No, you are not going to be alone again,” he told her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. “We have a team, a family, a purpose. None of us have to be alone.”

“Hmm,” she answered, meaning everything or nothing. She let her head drop back against the solid mass of his chest. “I guess we’ll see how that works out.”

***

They had dinner in the main dining room that night. Klotho was nearly ready to fly back to Oklahoma to resume her work, taking Paul with her. It was Tony and Pepper’s last night in the tower. And everyone was celebrating the announcement of the engagement of the geologists.

“Paul,” Tony said, standing and holding up a flute of champagne, “let me be the first to tell you...” he paused. “That you are completely insane for giving up your freedom and your life for a woman. But, should any woman ever be worth the sacrifice, you have certainly found her.”

“I don’t think I’ll tell Loki about this just now,” Thor said. “He was quite displeased when he heard of her injuries, and I don’t think I’m ready to tell him she is now truly out of his reach. Although, he is beginning to show signs of getting restless again, and I suspect he will forget his own promises soon enough. Maybe I will wait until he decides to try to escape and then blame your engagement on that.”

“How about we don’t piss off the crazy godling,” Paul said. “Just leave me out of it entirely.”

Clint and Coulson were sitting at the end of the table, Coulson’s arm draped casually across the back of Clint’s chair. 

“Hey, I, for one, am thrilled you guys are getting married,” Clint said. “That girl is an even more accomplished liar than Fury. Maybe you can keep her in check.”

“Wouldn’t bet on it,” Paul said, sighing. Klotho threw a roll at him, laughed, and took another swallow of champagne. 

“You’d better not hope for that,” she said told him.

Steve climbed slowly to his feet, surveying the table. Pepper was watching Tony study a corkscrew, obviously trying to think of ways to “improve” it through robotics. Bruce was staring at Natasha’s neck where a single strand of red tumbled down from her updo. Clint and Coulson were whispering together, but it was impossible to tell if it was romance-related or business. Thor was leaning across the table to listen to Paul and Klotho describe their travel plans. 

Steve cleared his throat and, when everyone looked up, he raised his glass.

“To the Avengers,” he said simply. “To family.”

And the alarms began screaming through the building.

“I hope it’s not Deathbots this time,” Clint mumbled as he threw back the last of his champagne and rose. 

“It’s ‘doombots, you twit,” Natasha drawled, poking him firmly in the ribs to make him stumble. “And can you even aim after that much wine?”

“I can aim so goooood...” Clint replied, spreading his arms like wings and making swooping gestures.

“Cap,” Coulson said, “you’re flying the Quinjet this time.”

“Yes, sir, I think that would be best.”

“Hey, Bruce,” Tony called. “You wearing your magic underwear? Let’s see if we can keep something on Big, Green, and Angry.”

“Tony, do we have to discuss my shorts at the table?”

"We've already left the table! Look, we're even out of the dining room!"

“I’m hoping for lobster leftovers,” Thor said to no one in particular.

“Tasha, I know that arm isn’t fully healed,” Bruce said, rather too loudly and clearly to be talking just to her.

Coulson turned to give her a look. 

“You are not keeping me out of this one,” she said to her handler.

“We’ll see,” Coulson told her.

“Asshole!” she spat at Bruce’s back.

“What?” he said without looking back. “Wasn’t me. Blame the other guy.”

"Hey, Tony," Clint called. "Do I get that kiss from my pretty baby girl before you put the helmet on?"

"Only if you promise to use tongue."

“Game faces, team,” Steve barked, pulling his cowl over his head to settle his mask in place. “Let’s go see what we’re dealing with, take care of it, and get home in time for dessert.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for coming along for the ride!


End file.
